


Journeys I: Kamino

by Mengde



Series: Sith Apprentice: Darth Venge [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sith Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6819097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mengde/pseuds/Mengde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Conspiracy: Qui-Gon Jinn, (formerly) Darth Venge, Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala, Maul, Siri Tachi.  The Conspiracy knows that the Republic's two Supreme Chancellors, Palpatine and Damask, are actually Sith Lords Sidious and Plagueis.</p><p>Qui-Gon and Venge embark on a mission to investigate a seemingly-empty spot beyond the Outer Rim where a planet ought to be.  Anakin remains behind on Coruscant to protect Senator Amidala, who still needs to decide where she stands with Venge (who she'd been seeing, before she knew he was a Sith) and Anakin (who is working through his own feelings).</p><p>There is no try, but things are about to be very trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Now and Then

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Re-Entry Official Timeline](https://archiveofourown.org/works/913029) by [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower). 



> Continuing what has kind of snowballed into a saga (which I should have foreseen, but believe me, I'm as surprised as you), here is the next story in my Venge series! All credit and many kudos go to deadcatwithaflamethrower for originally creating the character of Venge in her Re-Entry series.

**Kamino, Now**

A _beskar_ -clad fist smashed into Venge’s jaw.

He staggered back, drawing his Stygium and Sith sabers and snapping them to life.  The four Mandos drew back a pace, pulling various weapons of their own.  A bolt of lightning pierced the eternal storm, illuminating the scene on the landing pad.

Venge spat blood onto the slick metal at his feet.  “I’d rather not fight you,” he said.

“That would be because there’s four of us and one of you, _shabuir,_ ” the one in the gold armor said.

Grimacing, Venge readied his sabers and wondered where the hell Qui-Gon was.

* * *

Qui-Gon accepted the cup from the Kaminoan servant.  Like everything here, the cup was rounded, smooth, and silvery.  It was full of something hot which he assumed was tea.

“Where is your consultant?” Lama Su asked, seating himself in the spoon-like seat across from Qui-Gon in the otherwise-featureless room.  “I hope he did not get lost inspecting our facilities.”

With a smile, Qui-Gon shook his head and sniffed at the possibly-tea.  It smelled innocuous enough – herbal, probably bitter.

“I’m sure he’s just getting acquainted with the locals,” he said.

* * *

**Coruscant, Now**

“So, Padmé,” Shmi said pleasantly as she poured the Senator a cup of tea.  “Is Anakin still intent on marrying you, or has he changed his mind about that?”

Padmé stared at the suddenly-pale young man sitting in the armchair across from hers.  “What?”

“Just after we got here, he told me he was going to become a Jedi and marry the Queen of Naboo,” Shmi laughed, putting the kettle back on the table in the center of her apartment’s small sitting room.  “I assumed the Queen of Naboo was aware.”

Before Padmé could say no, the Queen of Naboo was _not_ aware of this, Anakin shot to his feet and practically bolted out the front door.

* * *

“Well,” Siri said as she sat down next to Maul.  The Zabrak had found himself a grassy knoll in the Hall of a Thousand Fountains in the Jedi Temple and appeared to be meditating.  “How’s the hunt for the Vigilante Jedi going?”

Maul opened one eye to give her a look.  “Ongoing,” he replied.  “And it will be until Qui-Gon and Venge return from Kamino.”

Pouting, Siri crossed her arms.  “This isn’t fair.  I get inducted into a conspiracy – a personal first, one less thing on my life-goal list – and then there’s nothing for me to do.”

With a slight shrug, Maul uncrossed his legs.  “What about your Temple duties?”

“Nothing _interesting_ for me to do.”

That made him snort.  “All right.  Since I am clearly not going to get any meditation done, I am going to make you a proposal.  The Temple’s combat training course has eighty-nine difficulty levels, the last thirty-six of which are impossible to complete alone by design.  Naturally, I have beaten the first seventeen of them, but I am afraid the rest are _actually_ impossible.”

“Are we going to try to complete all of them by the time Qui-Gon and Venge get back from Kamino?” Siri asked.

Maul raised a hairless brow.

“There is no ‘try.’”

* * *

**Coruscant, Seven Days Ago**

“No,” Yoda said.  “Dispatched, Maul will not be.”

Keeping his expression and his Force signature carefully neutral, Qui-Gon asked, “Has the Council already sent someone to investigate where Fett’s signal might have gone?”

“Sent someone, we have not,” Yoda replied.  “Send _you,_ we intend to.  Suited to discovering the truth of things, your connection to the Living Force is.  And much truth is there to discover, I think.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly.  He stood in Yoda’s meditation chamber, alone with the Grandmaster.  For his part, Yoda sat cross-legged on a cushioned seat, looking up at Qui-Gon with an unblinking gaze.

The conspiracy, as they had taken to calling it, had met yesterday morning to discuss their first move against the two Sith Lords currently serving as the Republic’s Supreme Chancellors.  Maul had suggested he get himself assigned to investigate a seemingly empty point in space to which the bounty hunter Jango Fett had beamed a signal.

This decision of Yoda’s changed things, but did not necessarily complicate them.  The important thing had been to arrange for a member of the conspiracy to investigate, rather than another Jedi ignorant of Sidious’s and Plagueis’s true identities.  This was now accomplished.

There was only one question.  “Will Anakin be accompanying me?” Qui-Gon asked.

“Stay on Coruscant for the time being, he will,” Yoda replied.  “The attempt on Senator Amidala, foiled by the Vigilante Jedi it was – but concern me it still does.  See her protected, I would.”

“And Representative Elessan’ra?” Qui-Gon inquired, referring to another woman who had been targeted by Separatist assassins.

“Assigned to guard her, Padawan Offee has been,” Yoda said.  “Until this plot we have unraveled, no more risks can we take.  Stay here as well, Maul should, to continue the investigation into the Vigilante Jedi.”

Qui-Gon nodded sagely.  “Of course, Master Yoda.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll depart immediately.”

He turned to go, but stopped when the Grandmaster spoke again.  “One last thing, Master Qui-Gon.”

“Yes, Master?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Returned the Stygium lightsaber to the Temple Archives, your Padawan has not,” Yoda said.  “Remind him before you go, you should.  So ‘forget,’ he does not.”

Qui-Gon hid a smile.  “Of course, Master Yoda.”

“May the Force be with you, Master Qui-Gon,” Yoda said as he left.  “Wherever it may take you.”

* * *

It was the work of a few minutes to comm everyone in the conspiracy and let them know of the change of plans.  It was half an hour to requisition a spacecraft from the Temple that would seat two with ease – an HWK-290 light freighter, which looked very much like a thirty-meter-long predatory bird.  This one had been modified with twin laser cannons and enhanced shielding for use by Jedi.  It was ten minutes to fly it to an inconspicuous spot in the Flats to meet Venge.

It was another few minutes to convince Venge to get in.

“An HWK-290?” Venge sneered.  “Are we going in undercover as trust-fund socialites from Kuat?”

“We are not going in as anything,” Qui-Gon said calmly.  “We are going in as ourselves.  This is the only ship available in the Temple that was not a one-seat craft.”

“Why aren’t Maul and I going on this mission?  You said Yoda asked you to go instead.  Are you entirely sure you didn’t convince him to do that?”

Qui-Gon frowned.  “Entirely.  Why _would_ I do that?”

“Maybe you don’t trust me.”

“I certainly don’t.”

“Maybe your mistrust extends far enough that even your former apprentice isn’t quite up to the task of making sure I don’t purposefully miscarry this mission.”

“Think what you will, Venge.  The fact of the matter is that Yoda decided on his own to have me go instead, because of my connection to the Living Force.  Now you can either get into the freighter, or you can trust me to carry out the mission myself.”

“And since you _know_ I don’t trust you any farther than you trust me…”

“Precisely.”  Qui-Gon patted the seat behind him.  “I expect this is the part where you get in.”

Venge muttered something under his breath that Qui-Gon chose not to catch.  With a surge of Force power, the former Sith leapt the four meters up into the cockpit, landing in the seat behind Qui-Gon’s.  He settled himself in and got his restraints on as Qui-Gon sealed the cockpit and prepped the craft to lift off again.  “Can you adjust your seat forward?”

“No.”  Qui-Gon grasped the yoke and took the freighter into the air.

“Of course you can’t.”  Venge began drumming his fingers on his armrests.  “So, what legend does our illustrious vessel bear?”

“It doesn’t have a legend,” Qui-Gon said.

“That won’t do at all.  I suggest the _Negotiator._ ”

Qui-Gon frowned.  “That’s surprising.  Not a particularly Dark Side name.”

“Exactly.  It’ll make it that much _more_ surprising for people when we kill them.”

With a sigh, Qui-Gon settled into his chair and prepared himself for a long journey.


	2. Day Minus Six

**Coruscant, Six Days Ago**

Anakin bowed at the waist to the handmaiden who answered Padmé’s door.  “I’m Padawan Anakin Skywalker.  Master Yoda asked me to guard Senator Amidala for the foreseeable future.”

The handmaiden – Dormé, Anakin thought her name was – nodded.  “Of course, Padawan Skywalker.  This way, please.”

She led him into Padmé’s apartment; it felt like ages since he’d been here, though he knew the confrontation with Venge and the revelation about the Sith had only been days ago.

Padmé was seated at a desk in the living area, sorting through the mess of datapads and flimsi printouts atop it.  She looked up at the sound of their approach.

Anakin felt his stomach drop out at the sight of her smile.  No, this was not going to be an easy assignment.

“Padawan Skywalker,” Padmé said.  “I hear you’re my only hope for protection from the Separatists.”

“All part of the job,” Anakin said, half-pretending at modesty.  “My first official recommendation as your bodyguard is for you to take a vacation and lie low until the Military Creation Act is passed or defeated.”

“Denied,” she replied brightly.  “Next?”

“That you avoid traveling to the Senate building.  Conduct business here and attend sessions by proxy.”

“Also denied.  Anything else?”

Anakin sighed.  “That you at least have Captain Typho use some discretionary funding to buy you an armored speeder instead of taking public transport or cabs.”

Screwing up her face, Padmé said, “I don’t like touching that money.  What I don’t use in a given fiscal year, we donate to my parents’ Refugee Relief Movement.”

“ _Senator,_ ” Anakin said insistently.

Padmé threw up her hands.  “Fine!  I guess the little orphan children can go without winter coats on Fest this year.”

“There are no civilians on Fest and you know it,” Anakin said, a bit more crossly than he’d intended.  “If you’re not going to take other precautions then you can at least take this one.”

“Please, milady,” Dormé put in from the other side of the room.  “The Padawan is right.”

With a sigh, Padmé nodded.  “All right.  But tell him price is very much an object.  We’re doing this for security, not as an opportunity to get a speeder with drink mixers and a HoloNet connection.

Anakin hid his disappointment.

“So, what’s the agenda for today?” he asked.

“Senate session in two hours, followed by a convention of the Loyalist Committee, then individual meetings in my office.”  Padmé gave him a calculating look.  “We should be back here before twenty-three-hundred.  A pretty easy day.”

Anakin pondered what Padmé might consider a hard day.

“Dormé will have the guest bedroom made up for you,” Padmé added.

“No, I’ll be on the couch,” Anakin said.  “Better response time in case of trouble.  And I’ll be able to sense your room more clearly.”

Padmé gave him a withering glance.  “I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you spying on me in my own bedroom.”

He felt sweat break out on his brow.  “Not like that,” Anakin hastily amended.  “A very general sense.  For danger.  Nothing – ah – _visual._ At all.”

She held his gaze for a long, heart-stopping moment before relenting with a shrug.  “All right.  You’ll forgive me if I’m not completely trusting of Force-users at the moment.”

_That wasn’t me, that was Venge!_ He’s _the one who lied to you!_

“I understand completely,” Anakin assured her.  He glanced over his shoulder at Dormé.  “Ah, does –”

“Everyone who needs to know about me and Ben, knows,” Padmé cut him off.

Which could mean Dormé did or didn’t, really, though Padmé using Venge’s alias made Anakin suspect the handmaiden did.

“Alright then,” he said, rather lamely.  “I’ll just be over here.  Until you’re ready to head out.”

Already turning her attention back to her desk, Padmé nodded briskly.  “Dormé, ask Captain Typho to go and buy an armored speeder with the discretionary fund,” she said.  “See if he can have it here in ninety minutes.”

Dormé curtsied.  “Milady.”  She gave Anakin a warm smile before moving away into the kitchen, withdrawing her commlink.

Anakin seated himself and prepared for a long, boring day.

* * *

“Are we there yet?”

Qui-Gon massaged his brow.  “No.”

He could almost feel Venge’s grin from the seat behind his in the cockpit.  “Are you tired of me asking?”

“Yes.”

Venge pitched his voice higher, affecting a positively grating whine.  “How much longer?”

“Four and a half days,” Qui-Gon said, checking the navicomputer.  The panels were bathed in the blue-and-white glow of hyperspace.  “Is it your intent to complain all the way there?  You could have taken _your_ ship.”

“I stripped everything useful out of the Infiltrator and sold it,” Venge said.  “Too risky to keep.  So, in point of fact, I haven’t got a ship at the moment.”

“A fair point,” Qui-Gon admitted.  “My question still stands.”

“You’ll owe me an answer in exchange.”

Qui-Gon snorted.  “Then don’t answer.  I am too old to be curious about you, Venge.  I can work with you without needing to know everything about you.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be more humorless than Maul,” Venge said, audibly pouting.  “Clearly he gets it from you.”

“Unwillingness to play an arbitrary game does not mean I’m humorless,” Qui-Gon countered.  “It means I’m past the point in my life where I need to know _everything._ ”

That shut Venge up for a few peaceful minutes.  When the former Sith spoke up again, however, it was not to continue needling him.

“I’m doing this for Padmé, you know.”

Qui-Gon sensed this was a conversation best had face-to-face.  He rose from the pilot’s seat and motioned for Venge to follow him into the cargo bay at the rear of the ship.

He settled himself on the deck plating.  “She’s important to you.”

Venge sat across from him.  He looked uncharacteristically somber.  “Yes.”

Choosing his words carefully, Qui-Gon asked, “If… if things don’t continue between you – what then?”

That made Venge shift uncomfortably.  “I told her that, whatever happens, I won’t change my threat to expose the Sith if she’s hurt.  That’s still true.  And if she decides she no longer wants to see me, I’ll still fight.”  He shrugged.  “You’d take me in if I went rogue, in any case.”

“Possibly,” Qui-Gon said. “Though if you disappeared and didn’t go back to hurting people I might prioritize other issues.”

“Such as the two Sith ruling the Republic.”  Venge nodded.  “That makes sense.”

“Anakin has very deep feelings for Padmé,” Qui-Gon continued.  “I’ve done what I can to make sure he realizes they are _his_ feelings, and it is therefore incumbent upon no one but him to deal with them.  Still, he _will_ make them known to her sooner or later.”

“Oh, he made them abundantly clear to _me,_ ” Venge said with a chuckle.  “And I told him to do what he wanted.”

Qui-Gon pursed his lips.  “It doesn’t bother you, knowing she might reciprocate them?”

Now Venge laughed, loud and bitter.  “Look at me, Qui-Gon.  I’m a twisted, dark creature born from hatred and violence.  I’m not saying that out of self-pity – I _like_ being twisted and dark and hateful.  But you think I mind if Padmé cares for other people, so long as she still cares for me?”

“No jealousy?”

“Jealousy is rooted in possessiveness.  It’s the fear of someone else taking a thing you own, or having a thing you want to own.  Do I own Padmé?”

Qui-Gon inclined his head in a gesture of respect.  “That’s an answer worthy of a Jedi.”

Venge made a noise like he was going to vomit.

* * *

 

Anakin was counting the number of senatorial platforms on the same level as Naboo’s when he realized two things: the enormous dome had gone abruptly silent, and that it seemed like everyone – _everyone_ – was looking at him.

“Anakin,” Padmé hissed quietly.  “Senator Trell just asked you a question.”

He blinked, coming to his feet and feeling the weight of thousands of gazes.  “I was meditating,” he lied, not very smoothly.  He stepped to the fore of the platform where it would amplify his voice.  “Yes?  What was the question?”

He had been apprehensive about going to the Senate, but the Supreme Chancellors were apparently in cloistered negotiations with a prospective member world and would not be attending this session.  After four hours of pointless bickering about various issues of no interest to him, he was almost wishing for an assassination attempt just to have something to _do._

“What is the position of the Jedi Order on the Military Creation Act?” Trell asked.  Anakin wasn’t close enough to see the Twi’lek’s expression, but he certainly sounded smug.

“The Jedi Order hasn’t said I can speak for it,” Anakin said.  “I’m here to protect Senator Amidala.  That’s all.”

“But you are the Order’s Chosen One!” a voice he didn’t recognize barked at him.  “If you cannot speak for the Order, you certainly can speak for the Force.”

“That’s a misunderstanding of –”

“What about simply as a citizen of the Republic?” a Togruta senator called from his platform.  “Do you have a personal opinion, Master Jedi?”

Anakin felt himself start to sweat.  “Padawan, first of all,” he said, playing for time.  He shot a look over his shoulder at Padmé; she gave him a miniscule shake of her head and widened her eyes.  “Second, anything I say will be taken as though I’m speaking for the Order, or as the Chosen One, even if I say it shouldn’t be.  So, I can’t –”

There was a sudden loud boom from the central dais.  Anakin whipped his head around, heart leaping, but it was only Vice Chancellor Amedda rapping the Speaker’s Staff against the floor of the dais.

“All rise for the Supreme Chancellors of the Republic!”

His heart shot into his throat.  The Force fell on him like a shroud, and Anakin had to struggle to push it away, to remain calm.  From here they were only small figures, barely specks, but the thought resonated through his head over and over: _There they are.  There are the Sith._

_There’s the man who’s been pretending to be my friend for ten years._

He stiffened as he felt Padmé slip her hand into his from behind.  She gave his fingers a tight, reassuring squeeze.

And suddenly he felt like he could do anything.

“Be seated,” Palpatine called, his voice booming out into the chamber.  “Except you, Anakin.  I know you’re only speaking as the Order demands it, but I do want to hear your thoughts on the current situation.”

Anakin swallowed.  “If that’s the case, Supreme Chancellor, maybe I could tell you in private.”

“Nonsense,” Damask said, his mechanically-enhanced voice buzzing through the Senate’s sound system.  “Tell us, Padawan Skywalker, your personal opinion on the Military Creation Act.  Senator Trell’s question was a fair one and I want to hear the answer.”

_Oh, hell._

Taking a deep breath, Anakin said, “My _personal_ opinion, that doesn’t reflect the views of the Jedi Order or the call of the Force, is that –”

He glanced over his shoulder at Padmé, who looked worried but still gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand again.  She wasn’t going to like this.

“The Republic is vulnerable,” Anakin said.  “The Jedi can’t serve as an army ourselves if it comes to war.  I – I don’t like the Military Creation Act.  Where there’s a military, there’s the chance for oppression.  The Republic’s an institution of peace.”  He braced himself.  “But we might not have a choice if the Separatist movement has a big enough army on their side.”

He felt Padmé’s fingers slip from his own.

The Senate rotunda filled with discussion, voices upon voices arguing and shouting.  Across the vast distance, he made eye contact with Palpatine, saw the man nod just slightly.

_Well, it only took thirty seconds in the same room as the Sith to turn everything straight to shit._

He had a bad feeling about this.


	3. An Idiot's Array

**Outer Rim, 2 Days Ago**

“Twenty-three,” Venge said, laying down his cards on the table they’d set up in the cargo hold.  “Pure Sabaac.  I believe I take this round.”

Qui-Gon said nothing.  He merely laid the Idiot face card, a two, and a three on the table.

Venge’s expression went slack.  “An Idiot’s Array.”

“I believe I take this round,” Qui-Gon said smoothly.

“The chance of a pure Sabaac is about a sixteenth of a percent,” Venge growled.  “The chance of an Idiot’s Array, with all the face-card randomizer elements in play, is about fifteen _thousandths_ of a percent.  So the chance of an Idiot’s Array beating a pure Sabaac in the same hand –”

“About two hundred forty thousandths of a percent, yes,” Qui-Gon mused.  “Of course, that assumes everyone at the table is playing fairly.”

Venge glared.  “You cheated.”

“Only because you did.”

Scowling, Venge looked back down at his cards.

“It’ll be nice when we get to Kamino.”

* * *

_Frosty,_ Anakin decided.  If he had to pick a word to describe Padmé’s attitude toward him since that unfortunate Senate session, it would be _frosty._

She answered his questions and was generally civil, but she also made no secret that she was furious with him.  Not only had he said that he thought an army might be necessary – placing him on the opposite side of the issue from her – but he’d said it while in front of the entire Senate.  While standing in her platform.

The media firestorm had been predictable and immediate.  Most of the questions centered on why Padmé was associating with a Jedi who believed the Act might be necessary – was her resistance to it just a political ploy?  Did she intend to alter her position at a later date?  Others focused, as Anakin had known they would, on his status as the Order’s Chosen One.  Did Padmé in particular and the Loyalist Committee as a whole have the moral authority to continue protesting the Act when it was _clearly_ the will of the Force that it be passed?

After the Senate session, Padmé had been informed that the planned meeting of the Loyalist Committee had been postponed, pending “reevaluation.”

Anakin sat in the front passenger’s seat of the armored speeder, accepting of if not precisely happy with Captain Typho’s insistence on piloting it himself.  He checked the rear mirror, saw Padmé lacing up large, soft-looking boots beneath her Senatorial gown.  He frowned.  “Padmé, what are you doing?”

The glance she gave him was like a splash of ice water to his face.  “Sorry,” Anakin said hastily.  “Senator Amidala, what are you doing.”

“Putting on my filibuster boots,” she replied, turning her attention back to them.  “I just received a call from Senator Organa.  Scuttlebutt has it that the pro-Act wing is going to push for a vote today, to capitalize on the momentum _someone_ gave their side.”

Anakin winced.  “You’re going to have to filibuster it?”

“Me, or someone else from the Loyalist Committee.  And I’m not going to stand for sixteen hours in heels.”

Nodding slowly, Anakin asked, “So you just… had those in the speeder?”

Padmé gave him another look.  “I’ve been keeping them back here ever since that debacle last week.”

He swallowed.  “I just want to say sorry again –”

“Save it, Anakin.  Nobody is happy to be here, so let’s just get on with it.”

After four days of taking her admittedly-justified heat, Anakin finally felt his patience fail him.  “If you’re so upset with me, why don’t you just ask the Council for a different Jedi?” he snapped.  “There’s plenty to spare.”

Time seemed to distort, slowing and stretching.  Anakin’s senses expanded to fill the entire speeder, stretching past its crude metal skin into the space surrounding them.  He was aware of several things happening at once. 

Padmé opening her mouth, presumably to tell him to go kriff himself.

Typho, half-turning in his seat to say something.

A spear of bright light, heading straight for them.

Anakin pulled his lightsaber from his belt and ignited it inside the speeder, but he was too late to stop the first bolt from slamming into Typho’s right shoulder and bucking the man back against his seat.  The blaster bolt, probably fired from a high-powered sniper weapon, pierced the reinforced transparisteel windshield without any noticeable problem.

He _was_ fast enough to slap aside the bolt headed straight for Padmé’s chest, and the one aimed at his own face.

Padmé immediately took cover behind his seat, yelling Typho’s name.  The man was unconscious, possibly dead, and their speeder was beginning to yaw back and forth without anyone to direct it.

With a thought, Anakin blew the armored canopy off the speeder, his sheer power tearing the durasteel and armorplast like it was made of flimsi.  It wasn’t going to be any good against this sniper, and he needed room to maneuver.  Standing, Anakin grabbed Typho by the front of his leather jerkin and threw him into the back seat.  “TAKE THE YOKE!” he yelled at Padmé as he batted away two more high-powered sniper blasts.  He was intensely grateful for his Djem So training and the instinctive two-handed grip he’d assumed because of it; if he’d been given to one-handed lightsaber use, the bolts would have torn the weapon from his fingers.

Padmé hurled herself into the pilot’s seat and nearly flipped the speeder as she slewed it around in a hundred-eighty-degree turn.  With the tiny corner of his mind not devoted to keeping the sniper from murdering him and Padmé, Anakin buckled Typho into the backseat.  The last thing he wanted was for the security chief to go flying.

Anakin rooted himself to the floor of the speeder with the Force as Padmé dropped them two kilometers in twenty seconds.  The sniper, by this point, had given up trying to hit them.  Now there was a distinctive, high-pitched whine, audible even through the wind whipping around them.

“SWOOPS!” Anakin yelled.  “WE’VE GOT COMPANY COMING!”

“I’LL LOSE THEM!” Padmé yelled back, arresting the speeder’s drop and laying on acceleration.  She yawed the speeder into a tunnel, dodging past other vehicles in their skylane, and hit the boosters as soon as they reached a straightaway.

The swoops were not deterred.  Anakin could see them now, a dozen of them, closing in.  Each one bore a rider armored in combat gear, faces masked.  All of them had blaster carbines.  The swoops were faster than the speeder, which traded power for armor.  Anakin briefly considered if he should regret destroying the canopy, but decided against it.  Regret was distracting, and he really did need to be able to swing his lightsaber.

The swoop riders opened up with their carbines, and Anakin gave himself over to the Force, turning back the hail of bolts.  Deflection wasn’t his forte; he didn’t manage to redirect any of the projectiles to their source.  Still, he was holding out.

They exited the tunnel into a wide intersection, floating guidance lights signaling individual lanes to stop or go.  It was densely populated with other craft, and it looked like there was currently a gridlock involving an ore tanker and several taxis.

“Padmé!” Anakin shouted.

“I see it!” Padmé snapped.  “Stop backseat driving!”

Anakin deflected a bolt that would have turned the back of her head into a smoking crater and bit his tongue.

She kept the speeder gunning straight toward the center of the gridlock.  Other civilian vessels shied or fled out of the way, especially as the blaster bolts kept flying; Anakin heard more than a few collisions, but kept his focus on deflecting the bolts aimed for them.

Typho groaned.  Good, Anakin thought – he was still alive.

At the last possible instant, Padmé braked, slewing the speeder to port, and cut the repulsorlifts entirely.  Anakin swore as the speeder nearly dropped out from under him, intensely glad he was already anchored to its floor by the Force.  Typho lifted halfway out of his seat before the restraints caught him.  Padmé stayed in purely by dint of her white-knuckled grip on the yoke.  The speeder sideslipped beneath the tanker and headed straight for the ground.

Padmé used the maneuvering thrusters to keep the speeder from nose-diving, and to kick it violently to one side or the other as they dropped, moving them out of the path of other craft and preventing a very messy, very fatal midair collision.  Anakin continued deflecting blaster bolts, though far less of them were anywhere near the mark now that Padmé had engaged the speeder in this particularly suicidal maneuver.  The swoops were trying to give pursuit, but short of cutting their own repulsorlifts – which none of the pilots were insane enough to try – there was no way for them to descend as quickly as the speeder could fall.

“Padmé,” Anakin said.  “We’ve probably got about twenty seconds before we hit the ground.”

“Sounds about right,” Padmé replied through gritted teeth.

“We’re at terminal velocity.  I don’t think the repulsorlifts can stop us in time.”

“Good thing we’re not trying to stop.”

Anakin glanced over the speeder’s side at the rapidly-approaching ground, which in this part of the city was mostly more _roof._   He realized what Padmé was trying to do, and he swore again, using a Huttese phrase that Qui-Gon had told him never again to say in the company of anyone he ever wanted to continue considering a friend.

The ground below them was indeed more roof, but the building itself was a Rendili-style cloudpiercer.  The roof was not a flat surface, but instead two curved, concave planes of transparisteel rising up to a single knife-edge, like an enormous tent.  Anakin’s Force-enhanced senses let him see through it into the penthouse suite beneath, which seemed fortunately deserted.

At the last possible moment, Padmé kicked the nose of the speeder down, adjusted their relative position to the knife-edge of the roof forward, and reengaged the repulsorlifts.

Their speed dropped – not fast enough to keep them from hitting the roof, but Padmé _wanted_ them to, after all.  Rather than drop through the transparisteel, they hit at an angle, the armored, flat undercarriage of the speeder grinding down the concave curve of the roof.  Anakin felt his teeth click together and nearly lost his balance.  Typho slammed hard against his restraints.  Padmé nearly lost her grip on the yoke, but Anakin darted out a hand to grab her by the arm and keep her in her seat.

The speeder slid down along the roof, bleeding off its momentum, until the repulsorlifts kicked fully in and bounced them off the transparisteel, which finally shattered under the blow.  The sudden loss of the surface they had been pushing off against threw the repulsorlifts for a loop, dropping the speeder two meters _into_ the penthouse suite.

Anakin gathered his power, faster and more intensely than he ever had, and blew a hole in the side of the building.

Padmé piloted the speeder through the opening.  The swoops were still on their trail, but they had breathing room.

“Hell of a way to wake up,” Typho groaned.

Anakin took a moment to look at the security chief’s shoulder.  It was a serious wound, but if he received medical attention he would probably be fine.  It was a question of _time._

“I’m going to try to find a parking garage,” Padmé said, whipping the speeder around a corner and then dropping it two more skylanes.  “We can ditch the speeder there and go to ground.”

“No,” Typho said, sitting up in his seat.  “Find a place to pull over.  Let me take the speeder.  Better chance of misleading them if we split up.”

“I’m not leaving you alone, Captain,” Padmé snapped.

Typho grabbed Anakin by the arm.  “You know it’s the right play,” he gasped.  “Make the call, Skywalker.”

Anakin growled.

“He’s right, Padmé,” he said.  “This gives us the best chance.”

Padmé stared at him, her eyes hard, her mouth set into an angry line.  Then she broke off eye contact.  She braked, turned the speeder into an alley, and settled it between two large garbage compressors.  Turning to Typho, she said, “You come back alive, Captain.  That’s an order.  You’re not allowed to die doing this.”

“Milady,” Typho said with a pained smile.  “Understood.”

Anakin leapt out of the speeder, his boots crunching as they hit the permacrete.  Padmé followed suit.

“Senator,” Typho told her as he settled painfully into the pilot’s seat.  “In the very unlikely case I don’t see you again, let me say it’s been an honor serving as your chief of security.”  He handed her a sleek, chromium-plated blaster.  “Good luck.”

“You as well, Captain,” Padmé said.  “May the Force be with you.”

“Keep her safe, Padawan,” he continued, turning to Anakin.  “I’m trusting you on this.”

“I will,” Anakin replied.  “Now go.”

Typho kicked the speeder up and back into the sky.

Anakin waited until the hum of its drives faded.  “We should get moving,” he said to Padmé.  “I have no idea where we are and they’re going to be here any minute.”

Hefting the blaster, Padmé nodded.  “Let’s go.”

They disappeared into the depths of the alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The odds for a pure Sabaac are identical to the odds of four of a kind in poker. The odds of an Idiot's Array are the same as a royal flush. Not because Sabaac uses the same number of cards or is anything really like poker in terms of its mechanics, but because I can't just pull numbers out of my ass.


	4. Secrets and Lies

**Coruscant, 1.5 days ago**

Sidious was straightening his robe and preparing to leave for the Senate when Plagueis stormed in unannounced.  “Your apprentice will doom us both!” the Muun snarled through his transpirator mask.

Raising an eyebrow, Sidious said, “I find it interesting that he is ‘our ally’ when things go well, and ‘my apprentice’ when they do not.  But regardless: what has Dooku done?”

“He has ordered a hit on Senator Amidala,” Plagueis snapped.  “Security holocams caught images of her speeder being pursued by attackers not ten minutes ago!  If she dies or is even seriously injured, Venge will release everything he has!”

Sidious whirled and practically ran to his desk.  He slid open a false panel, revealing the disguised holocomm unit embedded beneath the surface.  A few moments later, Dooku answered his call.  “My Lord Sidious?”

“Call your assassins off of Senator Amidala, Tyranus,” Sidious spat.  “Or do you _want_ to have us exposed as Sith to the entire galaxy?”

“My lord, this is inexplicable!” Dooku stammered.  “I have ordered no such attack!”

“It is not just Amidala,” Plagueis growled.  “Organa, Free Taa, Farr, Mothma – every member of the Loyalist Committee is being targeted.  CSF is responding to _eighteen different firefights_ as we speak.  But if Amidala –”

“I have given no orders!” Dooku protested.  “I thought the plan was to strengthen the Loyalist Committee’s cause by making them appear persecuted and targeted, but not to _actually_ kill them!”

“Who else could have done this?” Sidious asked.  “Who could be responsible?”

The three Sith stood in silence for a long moment, reaching to the Dark Side for guidance.

“ _Gunray,_ ” Plagueis abruptly said, opening his eyes.

Dooku’s image nodded.  “He has been the most vocal Separatist proponent of civil war.  He is eager to avenge himself for Naboo, and has always felt the Military Creation Act would provide justification for a preemptive strike.”

“It is too soon,” Sidious hissed.  “The Jedi have not yet found the clone army on Kamino.  We cannot risk starting the war until it will be an equal fight, to say nothing of having our plans revealed by Venge.  Get Gunray on this transmission, Lord Tyranus.  _Now!_ ”

Dooku bowed swiftly and began working unseen controls on his end.  Within a minute, the Neimoidian Viceroy’s image appeared.  “My Lord Sidious!” he began.  “I am honored to –”

His voice cut off as Sidious vised the Dark Side around the disgusting toady’s throat.  “Did you order assassinations of the Loyalist Committee members, Gunray?” he asked.  “Yes or no?”

The Neimoidian clutched at his neck and nodded.

“Call them off,” Sidious told him.  “If you ever want to take another breath, call them off _now._ ”

Gunray nodded furiously, his skin visibly turning blotchy even as a holoimage.

Sidious released him.  The Viceroy sucked in several long breaths, coughing and shaking, before pulling a commlink from his robes.  He thumbed it on and screamed into it, “Abort!  Abort the attacks!”

A litany of confirmations came in through the device.  Hearing them, Sidious sagged a little in relief, feeling similar emotions emanating from Plagueis and more distantly from Dooku.

“Lord Sidious,” Gunray began to babble, “I merely thought to –”

With a snarl, Sidious choked him again.  “Do not ever attempt this kind of unilateral move again, Viceroy,” he ground out.  “You have quite possibly destroyed everything we have worked to create.  If we are fortunate enough to steer through this storm, you will _never_ be finished repaying me for the damage you _could have_ caused.  Is that _abundantly_ clear?”

Gunray nodded again.

“Good.  A brief demonstration, then, of what will happen if you ever disobey me again.”

He focused the Dark Side on Gunray’s right eye, and _squeezed._

“We must ensure that Amidala is alive and uninjured,” Plagueis said over the sound of the Neimoidian’s screams.  “And we must release information which makes clear Gunray’s sole culpability in these attacks.”

“Tyranus,” Sidious said, ignoring the horrible noises spewing from Gunray.  “Release a statement denouncing these attacks on the Loyalist Committee.”

“At once, my Lord,” Dooku said with a sweeping bow.  His image faded out.

“I will send the Senate Guard to find Amidala,” Plagueis said.  “You prepare a statement announcing that the Trade Federation has taken credit for the attacks.  Be sure to use wording that will make it clear to Venge that this was a regrettable mistake.”

Sidious grimaced.  “How close are we to isolating his various delivery mechanisms?”

“We are not close,” Plagueis replied.  “He is –”  He paused, waiting for a long, piercing scream to trail back into hideous weeping.  “He is too cunning.  You trained him too well, Sidious.”

“What about your plan to subvert the Council?”

“It has been deployed.  But we must be circumspect in bringing the compulsion to the surface.  They cannot be seen to be neglecting their duties to pursue this for us.  And I did not risk a test of my powers against Yoda.  If the old troll notices something awry with his fellows, we may be undone.”

Sidious nodded slowly.  “I sense Amidala has not been harmed or killed.  It is doubtful Venge will sacrifice his advantage simply to punish us for this misstep on our ally’s part.  He knows that if he exposes us, we will torture and murder Amidala in front of him.”

Plagueis nodded.  “Speaking of torture…”

With a sigh, Sidious motioned at the image of Gunray.

The sound of the Neimoidian’s eye finally popping was very satisfying indeed.

* * *

“This is not what I pictured being on the run from assassins would be like,” Padmé said.

Anakin sat down at the food court table with her.  “So the alley we landed in was a hundred feet from the Galaxy Mall,” he said, handing her a cup of half-frozen boaboo juice.  “As it turns out, you can go fifty kilometers down on Coruscant and still be in a place you’d take your children.”

Padmé continued to scan the crowd.  “Has anyone taken notice of us?”

“I don’t sense anything,” Anakin said, poking at the large green pile of what looked like leaves on his plate.  “I hope Typho made it out.”

“He’s a tough one,” Padmé said.  “That sniper only made him mad when he shot him.”

Anakin smiled.  She had ditched her Senatorial garb and wore a plain white jumpsuit they’d stolen off a mannequin.  It was strange, but he thought he liked her better in this than her rich, royal finery.  “Taking all bets,” he said.  “How many does he kill with a blaster and how many does he kill by grabbing one of the ones he killed with a blaster and bludgeoning their friends to death with the body?”

Frowning, Padmé took a sip of her juice.  “Ugh.  Too cold.  I’m worried.”

“I know,” Anakin said.  “When Maul and Siri get here, we’ll have the numbers to go back out and look for him.  Right now we need to lie low.”

She stared into the juice.  “If we’re going to be lying low for a while, then I want – I would like to apologize.”

Anakin sat up straighter in his chair.  “What for?”

Padmé met his gaze.  “For saying nobody was happy to be here.  For pushing you to the point where you asked me why I don’t just get another Jedi.”  She took another sip and made another face.  “I’m not going to lie.  I was upset when you said – well, what you said.  But I recognize that our beloved Chancellors forced you into it, and that you didn’t want to lie.  So.  I’m sorry I’ve been chilly toward you.”

“Funny,” Anakin said.  “I was thinking ‘frosty.’”

“What?”

“Nothing.”  Anakin put his fork down, deciding that he didn’t need to eat whatever these things on his plate were.  Lying low was one thing; self-flagellation was another.  “I appreciate it, Padmé.  I’m sorry that I put you in a bad position with what I said.  Maybe, in a situation like that where the truth would just complicate everything, a smarter person would just kriffing lie about it.  I don’t know.”

Padmé smiled at him.  “If you were a smarter person, you wouldn’t be you.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”  She took another sip and finally put the juice down on the table.  “Okay, this definitely isn’t for me.  Do you want it?”

Anakin looked at the cup.  It had faint marks from her lipstick on it.

“I think I’m good.  Not thirsty.”

She smirked at him.  “I’m not contagious, Anakin.  And you seemed eager enough to sit next to me at Dex’s last week.  Before Qui-Gon cut you off and you gave him a positively _chilling_ glare.”

Anakin felt himself color.  “I like sitting on the end!  It gives me room for my legs.  They’re too long.”

“So,” Padmé said.  “Nothing to do with me?”

“Nothing,” Anakin said with as much Jedi dignity as he could muster.  “I’m not thirsty, and I like sitting on the end.  Senator.”

Her smile faded just a little bit.  “Glad we cleared that up,” she said.

Yes, Anakin thought.  A smarter person would indeed lie.


	5. In the Raining City

**Just Outside the Kamino System, Less Than A Day Ago**

Brow furrowed, jaw clenched, Qui-Gon watched the live holofeed of his former Master.

“Speaking in my capacity as chief negotiator of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, I denounce these vile attacks wholeheartedly,” Dooku said, spreading his hands in a gesture of supplication.  “I was not aware of the plans of the Trade Federation, and would have opposed them had I known.  As soon as Viceroy Gunray’s involvement became clear, I ordered him to abort the attacks, which he did.  He has been punished and stripped of command.  To those affected by this tragedy: the Confederacy of Independent Systems extends its sincere apologies.  If you wish to address a grievance, we are not beholden to Republic law, but you may contact our office on Muunilinst to inquire about fiduciary compensation for your loss.”

The transmission ended.

“What about the Republic’s statement?” Qui-Gon asked.

Venge, in the seat behind him, made a sound of pure disgust.  “Sidious might as well have penned a letter to me specifically, begging me not to expose him because this wasn’t his fault and no one important died.”

“If Padmé _is_ all right…”

“I’m not a fool, Qui-Gon.  I’m not going to release my proof because Gunray is a piece of shit.”  Venge stretched, his joints audibly popping.  “I am more than ready to be out of this freighter, however.  How much longer until –”

The mottled blue-and-white glow of hyperspace flared out into the familiar starfield of realspace.  A planet hung before them, grey and cloudswept.

Qui-Gon immediately keyed the comm.  “This is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn calling to any persons in range.  We are seeking landing coordinates, over.”

There was a moment of silence.  Then the comm crackled and a smooth, alien voice replied in lilting but otherwise barely-accented Basic.  “Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, this is Tipoca City aircraft and space control.  Transmitting landing coordinates now.  You are expected.  Over and out.”

He felt Venge’s curiosity and suspicion burn bright in the Force.  “We’re expected?  I’m thinking it’s a trap.”

“I sense no hostility or deception.”

Venge scoffed.  “Do you know just how many people I’ve killed without feeling remotely hostile toward them?”

Qui-Gon keyed in the landing coordinates sent by Tipoca City.  “Fair point.  But even if it _is_ a trap, it’s doubtful they’ll be expecting two of us.”

“I suppose that’s probable.”  Venge sighed.  “Besides, what could possibly be down there that could give Force-users trouble?”

* * *

The being that greeted them was tall, thin, and long-necked.  Grey skin, cold reptilian eyes, and a too-small head gave what was apparently a Kaminoan an unsettling appearance.  Between that, the seemingly planet-wide storm covering the world, and the eye-hurting whiteness of the city interior, Venge decided very quickly he did not care for Kamino.

“The Prime Minister, Lama Su, is eager to meet you,” the Kaminoan was saying as she led the two of them down a long, curving corridor.  “We are tremendously proud of the work we’ve done for the Jedi Order.”

“I see,” Qui-Gon said.  He seemed completely peaceful and austere, which irritated Venge.  This place smelled like disinfectant and, very faintly, dead fish.  Wasn’t the Jedi Master on edge?  “May I ask the nature of this work?”

The Kaminoan seemed taken aback.  “You were not briefed by Master Sifo-Dyas?  He placed the initial order, ten years ago.”

“Master Sifo-Dyas was killed in a shuttle crash, also ten years ago,” Qui-Gon replied.  “I was not informed of the Council having conducted any business with your people.”

“A fortuitous coincidence,” the Kaminoan said.  “We were close to sending an emissary to Coruscant to ask after the Order, but no contact had yet been planned.”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, the Kaminoan either having forgotten or simply having no interest in explaining the nature of the work done for the Order.  Eventually they halted at a large, petal-like set of doors.  The Kaminoan spoke several sentences in her own language, seemingly to the air.  There was a chime in reply.

“He will see you now,” the creature said, withdrawing smoothly.

The doors irised open.  Inside was the most blindingly white room Venge had seen yet.  Rising from a spoon-like seat was another Kaminoan, with darker grey skin and a decorative crest running along the crown of his skull.

“I am Prime Minister Lama Su,” he said with a regal nod.  “Welcome, Master Jedi.”

Qui-Gon bowed.  When Venge made no move to follow the older man, he felt a Force nudge in the small of his back.  Repressing a sigh, Venge gave a shallow bow of his own.

“Prime Minister,” Qui-Gon acknowledged.  “Thank you for seeing us.”

Lama Su gestured, and two more seats descended from the ceiling.  “Please, sit.”  He waited until Qui-Gon and Venge had settled before resuming his own seat.  Even like this, the creature loomed over Venge.  He was _not_ a fan of that.

“So,” Lama Su said.  “I understand Master Sifo-Dyas passed away.  Please allow me to express my condolences.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon said.  Venge kept quiet; not only did he not care about whoever Sifo-Dyas had been, he could feel Lama Su’s complete lack of any genuine pity in the Force.  The Prime Minister was real Sith material.

“Still, we were paid for the first two million combat units.  Two hundred thousand are ready, with the next million less than three months from deployment.  If the Council wants more after the initial order is complete, we will need to renegotiate the contract to cover losses incurred with other clientele while our facilities are occupied.”

“I’m sorry, Prime Minister, but the Council never authorized any transactions with you,” Qui-Gon said.  “Whatever Master Sifo-Dyas paid for, he did so without Council approval.  And what, exactly, did he pay you for?”

Lama Su rocked his head back and forth.  “Whether Master Sifo-Dyas had approval or not, we were paid in full, and so we are delivering the product as agreed.  As to your second question, he asked us to create an army.”  He extended his arms to either side, palms up.  “A clone army.”

Venge sucked air between his teeth as everything clicked into place.  “And when you say ‘combat units…’”

“I am referring to what we call a ‘pod,’ which is between four and thirty soldiers grown and trained together.  At the present moment, the standing forces of the army number just over three million, with another fifteen coming within the next quarter standard year.”

“Will you excuse us for a moment?” Venge asked, standing.  “Qui-Gon, a word.”

“Certainly,” Lama Su said.

Moving to a corner, or at least as much of a corner as the rounded rooms in this white hellscape had, Venge spoke to Qui-Gon in low tones.  “Let’s review.  The Sith are in charge of the Republic, and they’re in charge of, or at least the public face of, the CIS.  The CIS doubtless has at least a small army of battle droids, and has probably made more since Naboo.  And now –”

“Now,” Qui-Gon picked up the thread, “we discover that the Republic also has an army.  Ready-made, commissioned by a dead Jedi Master and paid for by… whom?  I don’t know for sure, but what I _do_ know is that Master Sifo-Dyas moved in the same political circles as Hego Damask.”

“Years ago, I kept Plagueis from killing me by promising to spy on Sidious and Dooku for him,” Venge said.  “At that time, I theorized the Grand Plan called for Sidious and Plagueis to be granted emergency wartime powers, to cement their positions, and Plagueis told me I was right.  Obviously they’ve been building toward a war with the CIS, but I always thought it would be short, mostly a formality, and then the CIS would rejoin with concessions from the Republic.  This…”  He gestured broadly at their surroundings.  “Three million men, and another fifteen almost ready?  That’s enough to actually stage a galactic war.”

Qui-Gon nodded.  He turned back to Lama Su.  “May we see the army?”

Lama Su stood, inclining his head.  “I thought you would never ask.”

* * *

To be told _three million men_ was one thing.  Venge understood, academically, what _three million_ was.

But to stand on an observation balcony, and watch fifty thousand of them – fifty thousand, barely more than a _single_ _percent_ of the army’s standing forces – line up for inspection: that was something entirely different.

Rows upon rows of white-armored men, marching in perfect synchronization, led by officers with armor marked in red and blue and gold and green, marching across an _indoor_ training field kilometers and kilometers across.  Every footfall thundered with the weight of fifty thousand men.

It took them half an hour to finish assembling.  Venge and Qui-Gon stood there with Lama Su, watching in silence.  Any other day, the look on Qui-Gon’s face would have made Venge laugh, or at least compelled him to needle the Jedi Master for _feeling_ too much.

Today was not any other day.

On the vast silver field below, Venge picked out other armored figures moving among the troops.  _Mandos._   He didn’t spot Fett, but someone here would know where he was.

“This is but a mere fraction of the army we have created for the Jedi and the Republic,” Lama Su said, as the last men took up position and the hall faded into echoing silence.  “And they are yours to command.”

Qui-Gon stirred.  “Would you – would you please have them take off their helmets?”

Lama Su leaned forward to the railing of the observation balcony, where there was a small control panel.  He pressed a glowing white button – everything was white here, Venge thought, _everything_ – and said, his voice booming across the room, “Helmets off.”

Again, in perfect synchronization, all fifty thousand men reached up and removed their helmets.  Venge stiffened.  Even from this distance, the face, the _single_ face, beneath the helmets was familiar to him.

“They’re clones of Jango Fett,” he said.

“Yes,” Lama Su said, releasing the button so his voice was no longer amplified.  “He agreed to be the source for the genetic material we needed, as well as to help train the army.”

“Fett is working for the CIS, and he’s also the template for the Republic’s army,” Venge whispered.  “Everything here is crooked.  _Everything._ ”

“I agree,” Qui-Gon whispered back.  “Very impressive,” he said, louder, to Lama Su.  “Thank you.”

Venge stared out at the tiny fraction of the army assembled before them.  He felt small, and vaguely sick.  Millions and millions of men, born solely to die in a war fomented by the Sith.  _Am I having my first attack of conscience?  Padmé and the Jedi must be getting to me._

As he let his gaze wander, Venge noticed something amidst the sea of white armor, brown hair, and stern faces.  There was single man, wearing blue captain’s livery, with short-cropped, violently blonde hair. 

He felt the change in Qui-Gon’s Force signature as the other man noticed it as well.  The Jedi Master murmured, “I wonder what his story is.”

With a snort, Venge said, “It’s obvious, Qui-Gon – that’s the only thing he can control.”

* * *

Venge stalked through the too-white corridors of Tipoca City, heading back to their landing pad.  Six hours of touring the cloning facilities, watching rows of identical men flash-learning, watching them train, inspecting the army’s kit – he was done.  He was _done._   He’d excused himself, and Qui-Gon had said they would meet back at the ship.  Probably the Jedi Master wanted to actually complete the mission they’d come here to do, find Fett.

At this point, Venge didn’t give a single, solitary damn about Fett.  He needed air.

He moved out of the endless white halls into the cold, grey dark of the city exterior, and was almost glad to feel the rain on his skin.  This entire place could go straight to the deepest, darkest Corellian hell.

He was absorbed in planning a complete, meter-by-meter destruction of this entire city, from orbit, when he belatedly realized he was not alone on the landing pad.  There were four of them, they were all armored, and one of them was Fett.

A _beskar_ -clad fist smashed into Venge’s jaw.

He staggered back, drawing his Stygium and Sith sabers and snapping them to life.  The four Mandos drew back a pace, pulling various weapons of their own.  A bolt of lightning pierced the eternal storm, illuminating the scene on the landing pad.

Venge spat blood onto the slick metal at his feet.  “I’d rather not fight you,” he said.

“That would be because there’s four of us and one of you, _shabuir_ ,” the one in the gold armor said.

Grimacing, Venge readied his sabers and wondered where the hell Qui-Gon was.  “I take it you’re some of the trainers of the clone army.  I’m working with the Jedi on this.  We’re all one big happy family.”

Fett strode forward, his blasters held loosely at sides.  “You could have shown up with Yoda himself and it wouldn’t change what’s about to happen.  You owe us, _chakaar._

“You owe us for Galidraan.”


	6. Tea with Shmi

**Coruscant, 1.5 Hours Ago**

Anakin followed Padmé back into her apartment, feeling utterly exhausted.

Dormé was waiting anxiously for them.  “Milady!” she said, coming to her feet at their entrance.  “Are you all right?”

Padmé nodded.  “No serious injuries.  Typho is going to be fine, too.  He’ll be in a bacta tank for three days, but the people at Government Medical say he’s in no danger.”

Nodding, Dormé looked at Anakin.  “And you, Padawan Skywalker?”

“Tired, mostly,” Anakin said.  “Padmé’s piloting skills saved us, but being in a speeder with her is _exhausting._ ”

Padmé gave him a mocking smack on his arm.  “You’re welcome.”  She stretched; Anakin kept his eyes forward and not on what the motion did for her in that form-fitting white jumpsuit.  “I need a shower.  No calls.”

As she moved away into the bedroom, Anakin sank gratefully onto the divan, letting his limbs splay loosely out around him.

“Can I bring you anything?” Dormé asked him.

“A fistful of painkillers and a glass of all your water,” Anakin said.  “Thanks.”

Dormé laughed and moved into the kitchen.  She returned a minute later with water and two ridiculously small pills.  “This is the recommended dose,” she said.

“Then either I’m washing that down with _tihaar_ or you’re getting me double the ‘recommended’ dose,” Anakin said, smiling to take any edge out of the words.

She frowned at him.  “You’ll have water and the recommended dose and like it.  You’re here to guard the Senator, not get buzzed.”

With a sigh, Anakin accepted the pills and water.  “Fair point.  Thanks, Dormé.”

“You’re welcome.”  Dormé seated herself gracefully on the divan.  “I saw some of the images HNE showed of the chase, captured from security holocams.  You saved the Senator and the Captain, didn’t you?”

Anakin washed the pills down.  “It was a joint thing.  Like I said, without Padmé we’d have all died.”

“You were still very brave,” Dormé said, her eyes in her lap.

When Anakin started to – well, not _deny_ it, but to make at least some attempt at modesty – Dormé darted across the space between them and kissed him.

He was so shocked, Jedi reflexes or no, that it took him a full three seconds to register precisely what was going on.  Warm, soft lips on his, a delicate, female body pressed against his own –

Anakin half-fell off the divan.  “Dormé!”

She flushed bright crimson, bringing her hands to her face.  “Anakin – Padawan – I am – that is, I –”

Stumbling to his feet, Anakin said, “I’m okay.  You just – ah, startled me.”

“I am so sorry,” Dormé said, still blushing furiously.  “I should have asked.”

“It’s okay.  Really.”  Anakin sat cautiously back down.  “I, uh – I didn’t know you felt that way.  About me.”

Dormé smiled shyly at him.  “Is it a problem that I do?”

Anakin opened his mouth to give her the boilerplate no-attachments-for-Jedi response, then clicked it shut.  Qui-Gon had never tried to make that stick.  His Master had said he didn’t think it would be healthy for Anakin.  Yoda didn’t approve, but Yoda rarely approved of anything Qui-Gon did.  And Anakin knew he absolutely _was_ attached – to Qui-Gon, to his mother, to Maul.  To Padmé.

_Padmé._   Would she see it as a betrayal, if he decided he wanted to return the affections of the very attractive woman sitting next to him?  It certainly wouldn’t be _professional_ of him.  But it would be less unprofessional than pursuing Padmé, who he wasn’t even sure liked him in that way.

And there was the fact that she’d been so cold to him after he was put on the spot by the Sith and defaulted to telling the honest truth.

And the lie he’d told her earlier that day, essentially claiming that no, he had no special feelings for her.

And _Venge._

_To hell with it._

Anakin leaned in and kissed her, moving slowly and hesitantly, not entirely sure if he was doing it right.  Dormé brought her right hand up to his cheek, then angled his head just slightly.  He was surprised again as she opened her mouth and lightly caressed his lips with the tip of her tongue; he had to puzzle over that for a moment until he realized she wanted him to open _his_ mouth, too.  When he did, she leaned against him, angled her own head slightly to his left, and gently moved her tongue against his own.

_Oh._ So this was what kissing was like.

Dormé withdrew, smiling again.  “I’ve never kissed a Jedi before,” she said.

“I’ve never kissed _anyone_ before,” Anakin replied, deciding honesty was the best course here.

Her eyes sparkled.  “I can tell.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”

“It’s nothing to apologize for.  Everyone has a first time.”  Dormé’s smile went from shy to mischievous.  “The Senator usually takes her time when she showers.  We have a little while for me to show you the basics.  If you want.”

Anakin swallowed.  “Yes.  I do.”

Part of him knew that this was going to lead to trouble.

The rest of him didn’t care.

Forty-five extremely educational minutes had passed before Anakin felt a stirring in the Force.  Padmé was coming, and she was upset.  He withdrew from Dormé, scooting himself away from her on the divan with a nod at the bedroom.  “Something’s wrong.  Padmé’s upset.”

Dormé frowned.  “What could have –”

The bedroom door burst open.  Padmé stood there in an informal robe, a commlink in her hand, looking pale and shaken.  Anakin bolted to his feet.  “What’s wrong?  What happened?”

“The bastards in the Senate happened,” Padmé said.  “Bail just called me.  While we in the Loyalist Committee were busy having our lives put in jeopardy, the pro-Act Senators forced a referendum.  Without us there, the Military Creation Act – it passed.”

Anakin felt his jaw drop.  Dormé gasped.

“That can’t be legal,” Anakin said.

“It’s entirely legal,” Padmé told him.  “The Chancellors could veto it, and we’re planning to appeal to them to do so.  But, with the current political climate –”  She shook her head, frustrated.  “I just can’t believe this.  I’m appalled.”

Desperate to make things better, Anakin said the first thing that popped into his head.  “When I’m having a terrible day, I go visit my mom and she makes yarba tea.”

Both women stared at him, nonplussed.  Padmé recovered first and actually laughed.  “You know what?  After the day I’ve had, that sounds nice.  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Shmi.”

“Is it safe to venture out?” Dormé asked.

“Nobody’s going to try anything now that Dooku and the Chancellors have come out against the attacks,” Anakin said, trying to sound reassuring.  He couldn’t exactly tell Dormé the Sith were too afraid of Venge’s blackmail to try to attack Padmé again.  “And the Act’s passed, so if there were any Senators on the pro side who were involved with that stuff, they got what they wanted.”

“Exactly.”  Padmé rubbed at her temples.  “All right.  I’m going to go put on something I can actually wear in public, and then we’ll go.  Assuming Shmi wants company?”

“I’ll call and make sure,” Anakin said.  “But I assume so.  She likes having guests.”

“Thank you.  Dormé, do you want to come with?”

Anakin felt Dormé’s eyes on him.  “I am not sure if I would be intruding,” she said carefully.

“I’m sure it would be fine,” Anakin reassured her.  “The more the merrier, right?”

* * *

Padmé smiled as the door to Shmi’s apartment opened.  The older woman was on the other side, smiling broadly herself.  “Ani!”  She pulled her son, who had the decency to look only slightly embarrassed, into a hug.  “You keep growing more every time I turn my back.”

“Hopefully I’ll stop soon,” Anakin said.

Shmi laughed, turning to Padmé and Dormé.  “Padmé, it’s so good to see you again!”  Padmé let herself be pulled into an embrace in turn.  “And who’s this?”

“My bodyguard and personal assistant, Dormé,” Padmé introduced her.  “Dormé, this is Shmi Skywalker.”

“A pleasure,” Dormé said with a formal curtsy.  “I’ve heard many good things.”

“Most of them true, I expect,” Shmi said, giving a slightly unpracticed curtsy of her own.  “So, I hear it’s been a trying day and you could use some yarba tea.  I’ve already got some steeping.  Come in!”

Shmi’s apartment was small, but it managed to be cozy rather than cramped.  Her careful use of bright, happy colors and smooth, rounded furnishings gave the space a comfortable, informal feeling.  Padmé and Anakin seated themselves in two of the three armchairs in the living room, while Dormé took up her customary position behind Padmé’s chair.

“I can get another chair for you!” Shmi called from the small kitchen unit.

“Only if it’s convenient,” Dormé called back.

Shmi emerged from the kitchen a few moments later, balancing a platter of teacups and a kettle in one hand and carrying a straight-backed wooden chair in the other.  “You’re my guest.  Of course it’s convenient.”

“Mom, two trips!” Anakin protested, reaching out a hand as if to help her.  A moment later the platter lifted itself off of Shmi’s hand and settled on the small table between the armchairs.

Putting down the chair for Dormé, Shmi said, “Thank you, Ani.  Maybe I should have you do some of the cleaning around here.  There’s literally no place you can’t get to with a duster.”

Padmé laughed as Anakin made vaguely negative muttering noises.  Shmi began setting out the teacups while Dormé relocated to the chair.  Once they were all settled, Shmi lifted the kettle.

“So, Padmé,” Shmi said pleasantly as she poured the Senator a cup of tea.  “Is Anakin still intent on marrying you, or has he changed his mind about that?”

Padmé stared at the suddenly-pale young man sitting in the armchair across from hers.  “What?”

“Just after we got here, he told me he was going to become a Jedi and marry the Queen of Naboo,” Shmi laughed, putting the kettle back on the table.  “I assumed the Queen of Naboo was aware.”

Before Padmé could say no, the Queen of Naboo was _not_ aware of this, Anakin shot to his feet and practically bolted out the front door.

Shmi just stood there, flabbergasted.  For her part, Dormé looked at Padmé, an odd expression on her face.

Then she stood.  “I will go after him, milady,” she said.  “I will be back soon.”

Padmé couldn’t help but wonder why it was that, as Dormé left, her bodyguard’s hand strayed to the hidden blaster on her thigh.


	7. A Good, Old-Fashioned Punch-Up

“Galidraan,” Venge sighed.  “Of course.”

“No canned denials?” Fett asked.  “No protests that we’re thinking of a different _di’kutla aruetii_ with tattoos around his eyes?”

“Not that you’d believe them even if I were to try them,” Venge said.  “No, I’m not denying it.  I gave the Governor the idea to get the Jedi involved.  How did you find out?”

Fett crossed his arms.  “After I killed the bastard, I did a complete search of his personal database.  Found a very interesting recording of a conversation the two of you had in his office.  When I saw you walking around with the _Jetii_ and the _Kaminii_ , I recognized you.  Decided to put together a little welcoming party for you.  What I want to know, more than anything, is _why_.”

With a shrug, Venge replied, “As with most things, it wasn’t personal.  He did some favors for my former Master, and needed help dealing with some dissidents.  I gave him the idea to use the Death Watch and then blame the rest of the Mandalorians for it.”

“ _Hut’uun_ ,” Gold Armor said softly.

Venge glanced at that _Mando,_ noting the bad ankle.  “Kal Skirata,” he identified the man.  “Tell me, how are your children?  Or have you not spoken to them since they disowned you?”

With a snarl, Skirata lunged at him, but the _Mando_ in red-and-grey armor shoulder-checked him back.  “ _Udesii,_ Kal!” she said, her voice confirming Venge’s guess that she was Rav Bralor.  “He’s trying to make you fight stupid.”

“How the _shab_ did you know about my family?” Skirata bellowed at Venge, trying to get past Bralor and failing.

“Up until recently,” Venge said, “I had access to the finest information network in the galaxy.  I know as much as I can about infamous mercenaries who were never declared officially dead.”  He didn’t bother mentioning he’d pulled a dump of Sidious’s database before he’d fled, or that he still had the information network _he_ had cultivated.  Turning to the fourth, midnight-armored _Mando,_ he asked, “Why are _you_ here, Walon Vau?  Hot-blooded revenge killings aren’t your style.”

Vau tilted his head to one side.  “True.  But I am a _principled_ man.  And one principle very close to my heart is that _Mando’ade_ are mercenaries by choice.  We choose to fight and die.  We are not used.”  He laid his hand on a _beskar_ saber sheathed at his belt.  “You _used_ us.”

“And the Jedi and the Death Watch,” Venge said.  “Rather spectacularly.  As I said, nothing personal.”

“Don’t sound so proud, _hut’uun_ ,” Fett hissed.  “It is _very_ personal for us.  I killed six Jedi with my bare hands that day while my brothers died around me.  You’ll just be one more tally mark.”

Venge smirked.  “Interesting.  Six Jedi, really.  Do you know how many _Mando’ade_ I’ve killed, Jango?”

“Personally, or by proxy?” Fett asked darkly.

Venge seized Rav Bralor with the Force and hurled her off the edge of the landing platform.

“I don’t bother counting,” he laughed.

“RAV!” Skirata shouted.  Without hesitation, he fired a wrist-mounted grapnel over the roof to secure himself to the side of the city and leaped after her.  Just as Venge had expected, in point of fact; Skirata and Bralor were said to be old comrades-in-arms.

Fett ignited his jetpack, taking to the sky, and began to rain blaster bolts down on Venge.  At the same time, Vau lunged forward, _beskar_ saber clenched in his gauntleted hands.

Venge fell deep into Soresu, the most defensive form.  He swatted eight blaster bolts back at Fett with pinpoint accuracy, scoring the _Mando_ ’s chest armor.  Then Vau was on him, raking his defenses with lightning chops and thrusts, the Mandalorian iron of his blade clashing against Venge’s lightsabers.  Venge half-turned to present a side profile to Vau, warding off the _Mando_ with his blue Stygium blade while continuing to deflect Fett’s shots with his red Sith one.  He stood there, a bastion of strength, giving no ground as he defended against two sets of attacks coming in from opposite directions.

Vau tired of the game first.  He came in with a long thrust, followed by a body slam.  Venge batted the thrust aside and leaned into Vau’s attack, leaping lightly off the ground.  He rolled up and over the black-armored _Mando_ ’s shoulder.  Landing behind Vau, he took a quick step to the right –

The fire from Fett ceased.  Venge had managed to maneuver Vau between him and Fett’s twin blasters.

He took advantage of the lull and went on the offensive, unleashing a staccato series of arrhythmic blows on Vau.  To his credit, the _Mando_ kept up with the assault, but he was unable to do anything but parry and give ground.  As Fett repositioned himself in the air to get a clear line of fire, Venge whirled and darted around Vau, keeping him in the way and hammering over and over at his defenses.

The Force flared in warning; Venge sensed Skirata ascending on his grappling line, Bralor in tow.  Taking a gamble, Venge stepped far out to Vau’s left, exposing himself to Fett’s blasters.  Fett didn’t disappoint, firing a withering array of scarlet bolts.  Venge deflected two of them into Vau, staggering him back, and sent a third into Skirata’s grappling line.

Very distantly, he heard Skirata shout, “ _SHAB!_ ”

The line snapped.  Venge threw himself at Vau again, no longer interested in keeping him on his feet as a blaster shield.  With Skirata and Bralor out of the fight, at least for the foreseeable future, he wanted to deal with Fett and make him talk about why he was here.

Vau tried, he really did.  He sensed that he was going to go down one way or another, so he abandoned his defense to put everything he had into a desperate, last-ditch strike.  Venge felt the _beskar_ saber slide along his ribs, cutting him deep.  The wound was serious, but Venge fed on the pain and cupped the Force against it, stopping the bleeding.

In exchange for the thrust, Venge crippled Vau.

He chopped down at the man’s sword-arm wrist joint, burning through the tendons.  Even as the saber dropped from Vau’s nerveless fingers, Venge severed the femoral artery in Vau’s groin, slashed the backs of his knees, cut his calcaneal tendons, and scorched him across both sides of his neck beneath the lip of his _buy’ce_.

Vau dropped.  The wounds were cauterized, which meant he wouldn’t bleed to death despite their location, but he was unconscious and in shock.  He might still live if given medical treatment in time, and Venge hoped Fett wouldn’t push the fight past that point.  Vau might be useful if he survived.

“Walon!” Fett shouted, opening up on Venge again.  But Venge was ready for the spray of blaster bolts, turning them away.  He quick-holstered his Sith saber to free up his right hand, continuing to deflect bolts with his left, then gestured with his right in a Force-summoning pose.  He’d had lots of time to study up on Fett during the trip here – the man’s biography, his tactics.

And the schematics of his fascinating jetpack.

Focusing the Force, Venge visualized the auxiliary fuel line crimping shut just shy of the actuator valve.

The jetpack literally exploded, slamming Fett into the landing pad five meters down.  His blasters went flying in two different directions.  To the man’s credit, he was on his feet again a second later, ejecting twin vibroblades from his vambraces.  Venge had to admire his spirit.

The door to the landing pad opened with a _whoosh._   Skirata and Bralor charged out, weapons ready.  Venge stared, baffled.  How in the hell had they –

“Landing pad right under this one, _di’kut_ ,” Skirata laughed.

The three Mandos charged, Bralor wielding a pair of vicious-looking _beskar_ knuckle blades, Skirata carrying a three-sided knife in one hand and a Verpine shattergun in the other.  He snapped the Verpine up, firing sprays of shrapnel at Venge, who Force-summoned his Sith saber back into his hand.  He deflected or burned up the shrapnel with huge, sweeping whirls of his sabers, as well as a light Force-shield.

Three on one was no good.  Venge hit Skirata and Bralor with a kinetic blast, just hard enough to stagger them for a moment, then turned back to Fett, who was almost within vibroblade range.  He quick-holstered both his sabers this time and hit Fett with a full blast of Sith lightning.

The technique was no damn good against _beskar,_ but Fett’s armor was made of a durasteel alloy.  It was half as heavy as _beskar,_ which was good for flying, but it was far less sturdy and _much_ more of a conductor.

Fett screamed, the coruscating bolts literally lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the side of the HWK-290.  He hit the landing pad twitching, with no obvious signs of springing back up.  Venge drew his sabers again, whirling back around to face Skirata and Bralor.  He was just in time; he crossed the blades to take a fast jab at his face from Bralor.  She pushed off the sabers, sending Venge back a step, then adopted a classic pugilist’s stance.

Venge deflected more shrapnel from Skirata’s shattergun, tore the weapon from his grip with the Force, caught a half-dozen lightning-fast jabs from Bralor which would have laid open his flesh like paper, ducked Skirata’s knife throw, jerked back from a kick to his abdomen from Bralor –

Fett was up again, twitching but lethal, and flame spewed from his right-hand gauntlet, catching Venge’s robe –

Venge ditched the robe, hurling it into Skirata’s face, sliced both of Fett’s vibroblades clean off, took a slash to the shoulder from Bralor, that one hit the bone –

Anger flared blinding red across his vision.  Oh, it was far past time he stopped playing with them.

He drew on his pain, his fury, he channeled all his power into a solid, screaming mass in his gut, and he _unleashed it._

This time, Bralor did not just go over the edge of the platform.  She went flying, at least twenty meters out at least, before she even began to fall.  Venge could see there was nothing underneath her but ocean.

“You wanted vengeance for Galidraan,” Venge growled.  “Well, by my count you’re two down and all I’ve lost is some blood.  Lay down your weapons and I’ll consider accepting your surrender.”

“I’ll paint my armor red with that blood of yours for Rav,” Skirata growled, another Verpine shattergun in his hand.  “ _Shab,_ even for Vau.  No _shabla dar’jetii_ is going to kill two of us and live.”

Venge readied himself for the next attack.  It never came.

The door to the landing pad opened once more.  Qui-Gon Jinn exploded out into the pouring rain.  His first Force blast swept Skirata off his feet and slammed his head hard against the HWK-290; the golden-armored _Mando_ crumpled and lay still.  His second pinned Fett to the ground, flattening him as though a giant, invisible hand had descended from the sky to slap him down.

Venge holstered his sabers, wincing at the pain in his shoulder and chest.  “About time you got here.  I thought you would never notice all the Force use.”

“Kaminoan turbolifts are annoyingly slow,” Qui-Gon said mildly, moving to stand over Fett.  “Can I take you _nowhere_ without you getting into a fight with the locals?”

“Oh, how droll.  The Jedi Master has a sense of humor after all.  You know what would _really_ make me laugh?  Finding me some kriffing bacta patches.”

Qui-Gon shook his head.  “First things first.  I can feel that there is a very angry woman in the ocean, and I also feel our chances of getting _this_ Mandalorian to cooperate will be greatly improved if we save _that_ one.”

Shaking his head, Venge keyed for the cockpit of the HWK-290 to open.  “Alright.  But if she tries to kill me again, you’re fighting her this time.”

Fett groaned and said something Venge couldn’t hear over the sound of the rain.


	8. Mendings

She found him in the building lobby, sitting on a cushioned bench with his head in his hands. 

Anakin looked up as he felt Dormé approach.  He grimaced.  She didn’t look happy; at least that made two of them.

“Embarrassed or no,” she said as she walked up, “it’s rude to just get up and leave a social event.”

“‘Embarrassed’ doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Anakin replied.  “Maybe ‘mortified.’”

“My point remains.”  Dormé seated herself next to him, certainly not as close as earlier that afternoon but not so far as to make Anakin think things were completely unsalvageable.  “So.  You’re going to marry the Senator.”

“Well,” Anakin said.  “Listen, this is all new to me, but I’ve seen enough holodramas to know you’re supposed to save the emotional baggage dumping for the third or fourth date.”

“If I weren’t interested in what you had to say, I would have just shot you,” Dormé said.  “Go on.”

That made Anakin chuckle.  He was fairly certain she wasn’t being serious.  “All right.  I was a nine-year-old slave when I met Padmé.  She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and I hadn’t even hit puberty yet.  I literally asked her if she was an angel.”

Dormé made a quiet gagging noise.

“Nine!  Nine years old!” Anakin protested.

“That was terrible even for nine years old,” Dormé told him flatly.

He hung his head, staring at the dark-carpeted floor.  “Fair enough.  My point is that she made an impression.  And we went through so much together, and then life just yanked us apart.  But I knew on some gut Force level I’d see her again.  And as I got older, and I started to realize that I liked girls – and some boys, but mostly girls – I don’t know, she kind of grew inside my mind.  I had all these ideas about how we were going to meet again.  So when Mom asked me one day what I was thinking about – and this was before I really understood the Order’s feelings on it – I said I was going to marry the Queen of Naboo.”

He felt Dormé lay a hand on his shoulder.  “Are you still going to?  I have to say I feel like that would complicate our relationship.”

Anakin felt his heart beat faster.  He looked at Dormé.  “You – we, we have a –”

“That’s what I’m trying to determine,” she said pointedly.

“Master Qui-Gon made something clear to me recently,” Anakin told her.  “He said that yes, I have these feelings, but it’s on me to manage them.  Not on anyone else, especially her.  And, uh, Ben – he told me I should let her know how I feel.”  He scowled.  “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to take advice from him.”

“I don’t know much about Ben,” Dormé said.  “You dislike him?”

“Yeah, and not just because Padmé likes him.  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it’s bad for her to see him.  He cares about her.”  It hurt to say it, but now was the time for honesty.  “But anyway.  People have been telling me all this stuff, and I really work well with Padmé, but – I like you too!  And I don’t know if I could handle the kind of thing Ben suggested.  So.  I guess my point is that no, I’m not still going to marry her.”

“Is that all?” Dormé asked.

Anakin screwed up his face.  “And I may have just told her earlier today that I really don’t have any special feelings for her.  So the timing was bad.”

Dormé raised an eyebrow at him.  “You lied to her?”

He flailed his hands in a vague, conciliatory gesture.  “Having feelings you’re not going to act on is the same, practically, as having no feelings!  Right?  So it was kind of a half truth.”  With a scowl, he reflected, “Master Yoda’s fond of those.”

After a long moment of silence, Dormé patted Anakin’s knee.  “In my admittedly limited experience, no, having feelings and not acting on them is not the same as not having them.  But I understand why you felt the need to say what you did.”

Anakin quirked a half-smile.  “So?  Are you dumping me?”

“As tempting as it is to set a new record for shortest relationship, I’m afraid I’m more interested in exploring this,” Dormé said with a quiet laugh.  “I appreciate your honesty, Anakin.  I do.”  She leaned in to whisper, “And I sympathize with having feelings about Padmé.”

_That_ got Anakin’s attention.  “You – ah –”

“I’m not remotely her type,” Dormé said airily.  “And really, she’s not mine.  But she’s _Padmé._ ”

He nodded slowly.  “Yeah.”

She tilted her head up to give him a brief kiss.  “All right.  Come on, Anakin.  Time to clean up your mess.”

He groaned, but let her pull him to his feet.  “Worst part of making one.”

“Agreed.”  Dormé summoned the lift.  “Tell me something, though.  Doesn’t the Order disapprove of romantic entanglements?  I like you a great deal, and don’t want to bring you trouble.”

Anakin snorted.  “I don’t serve the Order.  I serve Qui-Gon Jinn.

“And he doesn’t give a damn about entanglements.”

* * *

Anakin and Dormé had only been gone a few minutes, which meant that Padmé’s conversation with Shmi was still in the catching-up phase.  She was listening to Shmi tell her about the administrative job Qui-Gon had helped her find, smiling to herself at the way Shmi’s eyes lit up when she mentioned the Jedi Master, when Anakin and Dormé returned.

“Anakin!” Shmi said, setting her cup of tea down on the table.  “You know it’s tremendously rude to up and leave like that.”

Before Anakin could say anything, Dormé spoke up.  “That’s my fault, really.  He felt put on the spot because – well, just before we all came over here, I asked Anakin if he wanted to have dinner with me.”

Padmé felt her jaw drop, just a little bit.

“And I was going to save all the childhood-fantasy stuff for later,” Anakin said.

“Exactly.  So when you mentioned that he had wanted to marry the Senator…”

Shmi’s hands flew to her mouth.  “Ani?  You’re going on a _date?_ ”

“He is if the Senator authorizes it,” Dormé replied.  “Which, obviously, we would have asked her about in private, only…”

Padmé smiled.  “Captain Typho will be fit for duty again in just a few days,” she said.  “At that point, I’ll only need Anakin to see me to and from my apartment.  While I’m in the Senate, he can definitely steal away.”

An inarticulate, happy noise erupted from Shmi.  “My grown-up son going on his first date!  And with such a beautiful young woman!”

Sitting back and sipping at her tea, Padmé let Shmi fuss over Anakin and Dormé, who endured it with good cheer.  For her part, Padmé carefully examined the emotions this revelation elicited.  Surprise, to be sure.  Happiness for the two of them.  She could only guess at the difficulty of Anakin’s life, both before and after she’d met him, and she _knew_ Dormé had experienced great hardship before becoming a handmaiden.  A little sweetness in their lives was due them both.

So what was this current of unease rippling through her?  Concealing her frown behind her cup, Padmé thought intensely.

_Jealousy._

It was ridiculous, but there it was.  She was jealous.  Not of Anakin receiving Dormé’s affections – she was beautiful and loyal, but Padmé preferred men and their positions would have made a liaison unethical at best.  No, she was jealous of Dormé receiving _Anakin’s_ affections.

Padmé meditated on that.  It had been transparently obvious that Anakin harbored feelings for her.  That rather gallant but pathetic lie earlier today about his _not_ having them had been sweet, but she recognized it for what it was: an attempt to keep from complicating their situation.  And she’d been fine with that.  She liked him – she might even consider pursuing him, were circumstances different.

She knew she needed to talk privately with Ben, now that she thought about _circumstances._ They needed to determine precisely where they stood; at this moment Padmé had difficulty articulating her _own_ feelings.

But regardless of the situation there, it was clear to her now: she’d had no real intention of acting on any attraction she felt for Anakin.  Not until matters between her and Ben were settled, for one, and not while Anakin was assigned to guard her and could not absent himself from her company if he wanted to.  It would have been wrong to put him in that position.

Still: she’d enjoyed the knowledge that Anakin wanted her.

Now Dormé was in the picture, and Padmé knew that what Anakin needed at this moment was space to explore this burgeoning relationship with her.  Telling him that she had feelings for him, even if they were just simple attraction, would be manipulative.  It would essentially be sabotage.  Padmé refused to do that.

She breathed out, letting her jealousy go.  This was best for everyone.  Now was the time to be happy for her friends.

And to decide what to say, the next time she saw Ben.

* * *

It had taken a good deal of their medical supplies, but Qui-Gon and Venge had managed to secure and stabilize the four Mandalorians in the hold of the HWK-290.  Vau had needed the most help; Qui-Gon had him supine on the deck, a bacta pump intravenously circulating the healing liquid through his bloodstream and then filtering it back out.  Bandages covered his multiple lightsaber burns and lacerations.

Skirata had a cold compress taped to the back of his head, over a swelling lump.  He sat in a corner, glaring daggers at Venge.  Bralor was in another corner, wrapped in a thermal blanket to help stabilize her core temperature after her freezing dip in the ocean.

Fett, sitting against the far wall of the hold, was relatively unhurt – minus some persistent muscle spasms from Venge’s Sith lightning.

Sighing with relief, Venge slapped bacta patches on his chest and shoulder.  “Ah.  Much improved.”

Skirata said something in _Mando’a_ , which Qui-Gon didn’t speak.  Venge looked at him and snapped, “ _Ni jorhaa’ir Mando’a, chakaar.  Ne takisir’ni._ ”

“What?” Qui-Gon asked.

“He said he can speak _Mando’a_ ,” Bralor said, wrapping the blanket more tightly about herself.  “And not to insult him.”

“Thank you,” Qui-Gon told her, giving a respectful nod.  Courtesy opened doors that rudeness did not.  “Mistress Bralor –”

“Sergeant,” she corrected icily.  “All of us are.”

“I beg your pardon.  Sergeant Bralor, Sergeant Skirata – we are here to speak to Sergeant Fett.  We have no quarrel with you or Sergeant Vau.”

“ _We_ have a quarrel with your friend,” Skirata growled, spitting the word ‘friend’ as though it were an expletive.  “He arranged for the deaths of dozens of _Mando’ade_ to serve his own ends.  A lot of _jetiise,_ too, if you give a damn.”

Before Venge could speak, Qui-Gon replied to Skirata’s point.  “In fact, Sergeant, he did not do it for his own ends.  He was working under the orders of his Sith master.”

“‘Just following orders,’” Fett said sourly, speaking for the first time since they’d moved him into the HWK-290.  “The tried-and-true excuse of _hut’uune_ since time out of mind.”

“Venge was not a man who made a choice to join a cause, and then looked the other way when its leaders perpetuated evil,” Qui-Gon corrected him.  “He was taken as an infant, trained to obey and to kill, and then used.  Never given a choice.  Never offered a chance to find another path.  He is only here today because he seized the opportunity to leave the Sith, and at great personal risk.  Now he is working to stop them.”

“I don’t care,” Fett enunciated slowly and firmly.  “He owes us a debt.  _Buy’ce tal,_ a pint of blood, for every _Mando’ad_ killed at Galidraan.”

But Qui-Gon kept his eyes on Skirata, who was looking at Venge intensely.  The short, wiry man seemed to be thinking hard, his jaw working.  Qui-Gon reached out with the Force and felt the swirling conflict in Skirata, sensing that it would soon come to a conclusion.

“You’re very kind to speak for me,” Venge said, his tone chilly and laced with sarcasm.  “But I came up with the whole scheme and executed it.  It’s my responsibility, choice about joining the Sith or no.  Let him hate me, Qui-Gon.  It doesn’t change anything.”

Skirata looked sharply at Qui-Gon.  “Let’s be clear, Qui-Gon or whatever the hell your name is.  I don’t like you _jetiise._   You run around thinking you know better than everyone else because of the Force, and expect us to just _shabla_ well fall in line.

“But I haven’t known a _jetii_ to lie.  I’m sure you _can,_ but the one redeeming feature of the ones I’ve met is that they’re honest.  So, you’re telling me that this man was sent to Galidraan by someone who made him a weapon from infancy.  Who never gave him a choice.  That’s true?”

Qui-Gon gave him a grave nod.  “It is.”

Skirata locked eyes with him for a long moment, then nodded.  “Wait outside, both of you,” he said. 

“And I’ll convince Jango to talk.”


	9. Journey's End

As soon as the two Force-users left the hold, Jango snapped at Skirata, “I don’t believe this _osik._   Kal, that man _murdered_ –”

“Shut your _shabla_ mouth and listen,” Skirata cut him off.  “Doesn’t matter if you think he’s culpable for his actions or not.  Did you _hear_ what they were saying?  The Sith!  The _Sith,_ Jango!  They’re not gone.  And they arranged Galidraan.”

“How’s this change anything?” Bralor asked.  “He still owes _buy’ce tal_.”

“Dammit, Rav, it changes _everything!_ Jango, who originally hired you to do this job?  You told me once, now tell me again.”

Jango sighed.  “Dooku.  Though at the time he was calling himself Tyranus.”

“And how’d he get you to sign on?  I mean _really_ get you.  Not the credits or your clone son.”

Bitter realization registered on Jango’s face.  “He said that the clone army would help destroy the Jedi.”

“ _Gar serim_ ,” Skirata affirmed.  “Maybe that’s true, maybe it isn’t.  But who’s been trying to destroy the Jedi since the dawn of history?  And who’d try to get you on their side by making your goals align with theirs?”

“You’re theorizing,” Jango said with slow, measured menace, “that Dooku is a Sith?  And that he had _this_ one arrange Galidraan just to get me to sign on to be the clone template?”

Bralor swore feelingly.  “You’re _Manda’lor._ The strongest.  A natural candidate.”

“This is insane,” Jango growled.  “You’re straw-grasping, Kal.”

“ _Think_ about it for one kriffing minute!” Skirata barked.  “Former Jedi recruits you to make an army for the republic.  That Jedi is now leading the side the army’s going to be fighting against, guaranteeing that the army’s going to see use.  It’s supposed to help destroy the Jedi.  And you were convinced that you want that to happen because someone calling himself a Sith _set you up to want that!_ ”

Still supine on the deck, Vau stirred.  Not opening his eyes, he said, “Kal has a point, Jango.”

“Walon, don’t _shabla_ make me doubt my instincts by agreeing with them,” Skirata growled.

Jango stood.  “You’re suggesting that the army, the CIS, it’s all being put into position to destroy the Jedi?  That’s how they’ll do it?”

With a shrug, Skirata said, “I don’t know the _how._ I’m guessing here.  But if war breaks out, the Jedi will have to help the Republic.  Maybe the clones will collect data on the Jedi, find vulnerabilities.  Maybe they’ll be ordered to take them out, though I can’t see them obeying that order without a _very_ good reason.  The important takeaway –”

“Is that _someone_ planned Galidraan to secure my cooperation,” Jango interrupted.  “What if I’d died?”

“Then they wouldn’t have wanted your genes,” Vau snorted.

Jango shot him an irritated look.  “That kriffing _dar’jetii_ should have just killed you, _chakaar._ ”  He turned his withering gaze back to Skirata.  “There’s one way to confirm all of this.”

“Ask Dooku about it?” Skirata suggested.

“Yeah.  Very politely.  And I think I know how I’m going to arrange it.”

* * *

Qui-Gon and Venge stepped back into the hold at the sound of repeated raps on its door.  Even without the Force, Qui-Gon could sense that the mood had shifted.  Before, the Mandalorians had been wildly, passionately angry.  Now, however –

Now, they were furious.  But it was a cold, calculated fury.  And it was not directed at him or Venge.

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Fett said.  “We ask you questions.  You answer them.  Then we decide what we’re going to do with this new information you’ve given us.”

“Very well,” Qui-Gon replied, folding his arms in his sleeves.

“One,” Fett said, turning to Venge.  “Who are the Sith?”

Venge shook his head.  “That’s privileged information.  The only reason I’m still alive is that it isn’t public knowledge.  I can’t tell you and risk losing my leverage.”

“Reframing, then.  Is _Dooku_ a Sith?”

Venge visibly considered his answer.  “Yes,” he finally said.  “Don’t ask me about the others.”

“Fair enough.  Was he a Sith when he was at Galidraan?”

“No.  That was before he saw the light – so to speak.”

“Was Galidraan arranged so I’d hate the Jedi enough that I’d agree to anything that would have a chance of destroying them?”

That made Venge shrug.  “The reason my Master gave me was that the governor had done us a favor and we were returning it.  But he never does anything without at least two reasons.  I’d say that’s a fair conclusion to draw.”

“So your Master is a _he,_ ” Bralor noted.

“Yes, brilliant kriffing deduction,” Venge drawled.  “You’ve officially narrowed the list of suspects to every being in the galaxy explicitly identifying as male.”

Bralor gave him a Mandalorian hand gesture, the meaning of which Qui-Gon could interpret from context.

“Alright,” Fett said.  “What do you know about the purpose of this army?”

“I didn’t know this army even existed until today.  As Qui-Gon has already told you, I was more a pawn than a co-conspirator when it came to the Sith’s plans.”  Venge crossed his arms.  “Change of rules, Fett.  You want more questions answered, so do we.  We’re going to play one of my favorite games.”

Qui-Gon suppressed a sigh.

“I’m not in the mood for games, _chakaar_ ,” Fett said.

“You’ll be in the mood for this one if you want more answers.  You ask me a question, I answer it, that means you owe _me_ an answer.  Very simple.  And by my count you’re already up by several answers, but I’ll be a good sport and say you only owe me one.  Why did you want to kill Senator Amidala?”

Fett narrowed his eyes, but answered after a moment’s deliberation.  “I do side work for the CIS when I’m not training my troops here.  Dooku told me he wanted Amidala dead or scared, he didn’t care which.  So I contracted out rather than risk my own _shebs_ doing the job.  Strictly speaking, Dooku wanted her dead, not me.”

“And yet you hold _me_ responsible for Galidraan?”

The Mandalorian stiffened.  “It’s not the same.”

“It damn well is and you know it, Jango,” Vau said.  He was still stretched out on the deck, but he looked like he was enjoying the rest.  “Stop being a _shabla_ hypocrite.”

Fett made an angry sound in the back of his throat.  “Fine.  If we’re playing your _dikut’la_ game, Sith, that question you just asked me means you owe me another answer.”

“It’s true,” Venge said.  “Free information, by the way: my name is Venge.”

“Delighted,” Fett told him sourly.  “All right.  This doesn’t count as me owing you one, because I’m going to give _you_ free information for context.  When Dooku hired me to be the template for the army, he got me on board by telling me the army would help destroy the Jedi.”

Qui-Gon nodded slowly.  “Hence your previous question.”

“Yeah.  So, if this army is supposed to help destroy the Jedi somehow, and Dooku is a Sith and in charge of the CIS, does that mean that the entire Separatist movement and this army a Jedi supposedly bought are all being used by the Sith just to destroy the Order?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon saw Venge glance at him.  He gave him the barest of affirmative nudges through the Force.

“It’s certainly looking that way,” Venge said.

“Final question, and then I suppose you get to ask one of your own.  This one –” Fett motioned at Qui-Gon – “says you’re not with the Sith any more.  Assuming that’s true, why are you helping him?  What’s your interest in seeing them stopped?”

Venge stood just a little bit straighter.

“The woman Dooku tried to have you murder.”

Skirata made a hissing sound.  “ _Dalyc’ade,_ ” he said.  He glanced at Qui-Gon.  “Women,” he translated.  “I’d laugh if I didn’t think it was kind of sweet.”

“Go on, ask your question,” Fett said, visibly bracing himself.

“Do you still want to kill me?” Venge asked.  “Well, scratch that.  Obviously you still want to, I can sense it from here.  Are you going to try to again?”

Fett shook his head.  “No.  There’s no denying that you owe _buy’ce tal,_ Venge, but there’s also no denying that you could have killed all four of us and you didn’t.  And…”  He sighed.  “And it’s also clear that we’re on the same side, if _not wanting to be used by the kriffing Sith_ is a side.”

“It’s clear that war is imminent,” Qui-Gon said.  “This army is here for the Republic to find when the CIS strikes.  I’m not sure how the army will help destroy us – we’ll want to look into that, obviously – but I think we should move quickly to try to prevent the war, if possible.”  He gestured at Fett.  “You’ve done work for Dooku.  I want you to take me to him.”

Venge whirled to stare at him.  “Qui-Gon, are you out of your mind?”

For his part, Fett chuckled.  “Funny.  I was going to ask one of you to be my ‘prisoner’ so I have an excuse to go see him.  And then kill him, unless he gives me the answers I want.”

“The Force has clearly brought us together for just this reason,” Qui-Gon said with a smile.

“Qui-Gon, you can’t just go and walk into a CIS stronghold,” Venge snapped.  “They’ll kill you.”

“Dooku is my old Master.  He won’t kill me.  He’ll try to turn me.”  Qui-Gon grimaced.  “So it’ll be up to you, and the rest of our friends, to come in and rescue me before he succeeds.”

“Absolutely not!  I’m coming with you.”

Qui-Gon lowered his voice.  “I just said he’s my old Master, Venge.  He will try to turn me, and I will try to redeem him.  It’s what the Force is calling me to do.  I owe him.  We were clearly brought here so I could go with Fett, and so you could bring the Conspiracy after me.  We cannot reveal the Sith’s identities to the Order, but we can seize opportunities to stop them individually.  Whatever that might entail.”

Venge glared daggers at him.  “If we get to you and find that he’s turned you, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”  Qui-Gon turned back to Fett.  “Shall we take your ship?”

“Sounds like a plan.”  Fett spoke to the rest of the Mandalorians.  “Stay here, keep about your usual business.  What’s been said here doesn’t go beyond the six of us.”

“Where are we going?” Qui-Gon asked, helping Vau to his feet as they prepared to exit the HWK-290.  “Venge will need to know the name of the world.”

“It’s a desolate little speck of dust about a parsec from Tatooine,” Jango said.  “Named Geonosis.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Venge sighed.  “And here I was just beginning to enjoy the rain and damp.”

“May the Force be with you,” Qui-Gon told him.

“It always is.  You, though – you, I’m not so sure about.”

Qui-Gon exited the HWK-290 with the Mandalorians, leaving Venge behind.

* * *

It was an uneventful week on Coruscant, guarding Padmé.  The days went quickly for Anakin, however, because when he wasn’t actively escorting Padmé from place to place, he was spending time with Dormé.

The old saying was true.  Time flew when you were having fun.

He felt a little bad about it, actually.  He and Dormé were having the time of their lives, while Padmé was struggling to get the Chancellors – the Sith – to consider vetoing the Military Creation Act, or at least to call for another vote.  He didn’t envy her having to talk to the snakes in person and pretend that she didn’t know what they were.

But he didn’t feel bad enough to stop spending every spare second he could with Dormé.

They were seated on the divan in Padmé’s apartment together, cuddling and watching _Jedi Cop_ and laughing at the sheer terribleness, when the door flew open and Venge stormed in.

Anakin froze like a small animal caught in the lights of an onrushing speeder.  Venge looked at him, then at Dormé.

“Oh, Anakin,” he said, a grin spreading across his face.  “Words cannot express how amusing this is.”

Dormé rose to her feet with far more grace and dignity than Anakin felt capable of at the moment.  “You must be Ben,” she said, looking him up and down.  Her eyes came to rest on his lightsabers.  “Padmé didn’t mention that you were a Jedi.”

“Because I’m not.  But it’s a long story, and we’re short on time.  Where is Padmé?”

“In her bedroom, taking a nap.  It’s been a long week.  What’s happened?”

Venge was already moving toward the bedroom door.  “Get whatever you need together and be ready to leave.  We have a mission.  All of us.”

“What’s going on?” Dormé asked Anakin.  “Who’s ‘all of us?’”

“I – I don’t know how to answer that,” Anakin told her honestly.  “It’s kind of a secret, honestly.  I mean, not that I don’t trust you, but –”

Venge came back out of the bedroom, robes billowing about him.  “The Chancellors are Sith Lords intent on destroying the Jedi and turning the Republic into a dictatorship,” he said.  “I’m a former Sith who’s defected and is helping a select group of Jedi, and Padmé, fight the Sith.  Any questions?”

Dormé gaped at him, then at Anakin.  “What?  Ani, is he serious?”

“Entirely,” Padmé said, appearing in the door to her room.  “Though I don’t think he needed to tell you.”

“She’s sleeping with a member of the Conspiracy,” Venge told her.  “She’d have found out sooner or later, and this way he doesn’t have to lie.”

Anakin started to make sputtering noises.  “You – I mean, we haven’t – it’s only –”

“Shut up and go get Maul and Siri,” Venge interrupted him.  “Time is precious.

“We’re going to Geonosis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of this entry in the series! The next story will be coming soon. Hope you enjoyed!


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